LITTLETON, Colo. (AP) — A suburban Denver high school student who was shot in the head by a classmate died Saturday afternoon, hospital officials and her family said.

“It is with heavy hearts that we share that at 4:29 p.m. this afternoon, Claire Davis passed away, with her family at her side,” a statement from Littleton Adventist Hospital said.

Please do not forget this:

“Karl Pierson, 18, shot Davis, who just happened to be sitting nearby with a friend as Pierson, armed with a shotgun, ammunition strapped to his body, Molotov cocktails and a machete, entered the school and headed toward the library. Davis appeared to be a random target, Arapahoe County Sheriff Grayson Robinson has said.”

Karl Pierson shot and killed himself.

80 seconds was all it took for two young people to die.

My son could see the police helicopters hover above the high school which is not far from his.

I received this text from my son:

“Hey mom there was a shooting nearby everyone is fine here. We are on lockdown.”

A message like this one should not be so Matter of Fact.

My son could see the police cars and SWAT teams make their way towards the school.

Two cards arrive the same day: one letting me know my aunt died 4 months ago,

the other celebrating the life of a baby about to be born.

Balance.

I am thinking of the many definitions of Family

and feeling gratitude for my Community.

I am grieving again,

complicated.

I am grateful again,

simple.

Emily Dickinson wrote,

“I measure every grief I meet.”

I do too.

I measure the weight and the depth.

I will be measuring the length,

and the complication.

I grieve for my aunt.

I grieve for a blood family torn asunder,

and wonder what could have been

if alcoholism had not darkened our family tree.

I am grateful also, deeply grateful.

For my Family, Capital F.

My Family built by Choice and of Love.

I am a very lucky woman surrounded by people I love

people I have loved for a lifetime,

people I have know for half that.

I am grateful for my sobriety and for the sobriety of those I love.

The cards arrived today,

both in deep blue envelopes.

Blue reminding me of my aunt

and blue reminding me of the sky

and the baby and of hope and destiny.

I do not believe in coincidences. I do believe in my God.

Both arrived today? Both in deep blue envelopes?

One, notice of a death: short, curt, late.

The other loving, deep, and right on time.

My God does not mess around.

My God delivers.

Grief and Gratitude.

Now it is time to measure both,

the weight,

the depth,

and the length

of each.

In Peace and in Wonder,

Jen

Happy National Poetry Month,

another Not Coincidence on this day of Grief and Gratitude.

**********

I Measure Every Grief I Meet

_ Emily Dickinson

I measure every grief I meet

With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.I wonder if when years have piled—
Some thousands—on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,—
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There’s grief of want, and grief of cold,—
A sort they call ‘despair,’
There’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

One year we were traveling out of the country on Poem in Your Pocket Day.

My family and I were able to leave Poems in 4 airports in many cities and 2 countries! Woo Hoo!

THAT was some Spreading of Poem Love!

Can I beat that this year???

Here in Town??

Yes. I can.

Thank you Again to the

American Academy of Poets

Celebrate national Poem In Your Pocket Day onThursday, April 18, 2013!

The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month then carry it with you to share with

co-workers, family, and friends. You can also share your poem selection on Twitter by using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

Poems from pockets will be unfolded throughout the day with events in parks, libraries, schools, workplaces, and bookstores.Create your own Poem In Your Pocket Day event using ideas below or let us know how your plans, projects, and suggestions for Poem In Your Pocket Day by emailingnpm@poets.org.

Put Poems In Pockets

In this age of mechanical and digital reproduction, it’s easy to carry a poem, share a poem, or start your own PIYP day event. Here are some ideas of how you might get involved:

Start a “poems for pockets” give-a-way in your school or workplace

Urge local businesses to offer discounts for those carrying poems

Post pocket-sized verses in public places

Handwrite some lines on the back of your business cards

Start a street team to pass out poems in your community

Distribute bookmarks with your favorite immortal lines

Add a poem to your email footer

Post a poem on your blog or social networking page

Project a poem on a wall, inside or out

Text a poem to friends

Help us expand the list: send your ideas tonpm@poets.org.Poem In Your Pocket History Every year, in the month of April, National Poetry Month is celebrated throughout the United States and in various countries worldwide. In 2002, the City of New York created Poem in Your Pocket Day (PIYP) as part of the city’s National Poetry Month celebration. In 2009, the Academy of American Poets took PIYP Day national, allowing individuals around the country to join in and channel their inner bard. Each year on PIYP Day, schools, bookstores, libraries, parks, workplaces, and other venues ring loud with open readings of poems from pockets.

Throughout history, poems have been stowed in pockets in a variety of ways, from the commonplace books of the Renaissance to the pocket-sized publications for Army soldiers in World War II. Have a story about the marriage of the poem and the pocket? Send them tonpm@poets.org.

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About this blog

My mother was a long time alcoholic living with Wernicke-Korsakoff; alcoholics dementia. She died November 30th, 2011. Cause of death: Chronic Alcoholism.

My mother was only 67 when the dementia became a daily hindrance; it had been a problem for at least a decade earlier. It was not diagnosed until she was 69.

She was non-verbal and unable to eat solid foods. She was an intelligent woman no longer able to form new short-term memories. She was living on a secured floor of a nursing home; all thanks to her alcoholics dementia.

Very little is written about alcoholics dementia and it is rarely correctly diagnosed. I believe there are a few reasons for this: alcoholics tend to lie about their usage and children of alcoholics are often alcoholics themselves. diagnosed soon enough and treated correctly, the damage done by Wernicke-Korsakoff can be slowed.

The person suffering must admit they are an alcoholic, quit drinking, go through a medical detox and begin intense Thiamine therapy. Few alcoholics are willing to admit or change their behavior.

Alcohol use is, in my opinion, is one of the curses of our culture. It is a totally socially acceptable way to kill yourself slowly while putting others in harm's way. Alcoholism does more than just harm the drunk; it destroys families too.

I am hoping to clear the air about alcoholics dementia. I will chronicle my mothers decline and how my family has managed to survive intact through it all.

I will not candy coat my experience or that of my mother. This is not a happy story and it is unlikely there will be a happy ending.* (This was written before the death of my mother. There is NOT a happy ending)

This is a cautionary tale. I hope it will be of help to those who live with alcoholics, are active alcoholics and those who are in recovery.